


There, Just Out of View

by little_specificity



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Grieving, M/M, Not the dog, Post-Inception, arthureamesmonth2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_specificity/pseuds/little_specificity
Summary: Eames makes friends with old ladies, inherits a dog that doesn’t like him and Arthur just listens.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	There, Just Out of View

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the second week of ArthurEames Month 2020. For some odd reason, I was convinced that the dialogue prompt was “You know I love you, right?”, but it wasn’t it. However, the story still fits the “love languages” setting. I almost didn't post this because I think that it's a little messy, but I really wanted to participate.
> 
> As I was just about to post this, I realized I didn't have a title. "There, Just Out of View" is a line from a Death Cab for Cutie song called Blue Bloods, and I thought it was fitting.
> 
> This story is not betaed, so if you find any mistakes or weird wordings (I’m not a native English speaker) any comment about it, as always, will be much appreciated.
> 
> Thank you to my best friend for hearing me talk endlessly about how this is not good lol

Even if adopting Ernest had technically been Eames's choice, it had never felt like it. To keep on calling him Ernest, a name he hated because his grandfather had been also an Ernest, didn't feel like it either. But the dog’s fur around the muzzle was already white when Eames brought him home, and he thought it would be disrespectful to suddenly call him another name. 

Before becoming Ernest’s owner, he and Eames had been mere acquaintances. Trudy, the nice old lady who lived next door and baked things for Eames from time to time, had been Ernest’s owner since he was a little puppy. The woman had been bubbly and sweet and it reminded Eames of the mother who he had always wished he had. It always made him smile to himself to see Ernest, with his perpetually disapproving gaze and his reluctance of letting himself being pet by Eames, tailing after her everywhere. They balanced each other, he supposed.

With time, Eames found himself going back to that specific house of his more frequently. He didn’t even care that his younger self had always thought that the day he started settling down would be the day he started to become boring. His younger self didn’t know better and also hadn’t been on the receiving end of Trudy’s maternal gaze or tasted his other old lady neighbors’ cookies. So Eames started buying decorations and mementos of the places he worked in to make his home in that small town more, well, homey. He felt only just a little pathetic when he thought about how he was moving to such a cute neighborhood in a very small town. And how he was making friends with many women who could be his grandmothers. He felt a bit worried, but being called a handsome young man did wonders to his ego, no matter who was the one who told him so, so he went with it.

He also started to buy small things for Trudy and Ernest when he was away, which still happened very often. He couldn't help but notice how lonely Trudy was, her own son living abroad and her husband having died a decade prior. Eames was also lonely and one of his greatest fears was growing old alone, so every time he went abroad he made sure to buy something pretty for Trudy to show her that she was appreciated and thought of. Getting presents for Ernest was only something he started doing because he thought it polite. But Eames was known for being a little bit of a jerk, after all, and he bought Ernest noisy and colorful toys he knew the dog wouldn’t like. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like the grumpy old mutt, really, but the dog always looked at him as he was an annoying fly on his food. Eames, used to being loved by all kinds of pets, was petty.

It had been during a job when he first talked with someone about his friendship with Trudy and his barely-tolerating-each-other with Ernest. He had received a call from an unknown number to his personal phone. Not the number he gave to clients and coworkers, also not the one he gave to hook-ups. Arthur, who with the passing of years had acquired all three, didn’t even glance in his direction as Eames left the room to pick the call. 

It was Michael, Trudy’s son, who must’ve got Eames’s phone number from his mother. Apparently, one of the other old ladies that lived in Eames’s neighborhood had told him that his mother had a new, younger boyfriend who lived next door when he went to visit. Eames suspected it had been Mildred, the owner of the poodle Ernest held many grudges with. Michael was angry and demanded to know what his intentions with his mother were, which made Eames angry in turn. Trudy was a very pretty lady and could perfectly attract a younger and good-looking man, thank you very much.

When he entered the room again, Arthur was staring at him. It was a kind of stare that Eames didn’t get to see very often: one vaguely amused, vaguely curious, but most of all fond. The walls that separated the rooms of the Airbnb they had rented for the job were very thin, and one could not blame Eames for having risen his voice while talking about how he was not having sex with a septuagenarian. He did that kind of thing often, to see if he could get that reaction out of Arthur. Especially since he discovered that Arthur knew that.

As he told Arthur about Trudy, Ernest, Mildred and her poodle, he felt that familiar warmth that took over every time those brown eyes lighted up with that special spark Eames liked to think was only for him. Arthur even dimpled when he described how Ernest had destroyed the toys Eames bought for him and took them to his garden as a welcome gift the last time he was able to go home.

But then the architect that was working with them returned with Chinese food and the spell was gone. As he ate his dinner from the desk he had been assigned, he felt like he always did after telling something important for him to Arthur: Sad. While Eames was always eager to share things with Arthur - not everything, of course, because he was a rather successful criminal too, after all - Arthur never told him anything. Eames didn’t think Arthur distrusted him that much, or that he didn’t care, but the fact that Arthur could fill a journal with things Eames had shared with him while all he had were observations, hurt. Actually, the fact that Eames could also fill a journal only with said observations made him even sadder.

The news of Trudy’s death came months later when Eames was about to board a plane home from the other side of the world. His personal phone rang and Michael’s name appeared. Both of them had agreed to get along since even despite the fact that Eames took on jobs that made him travel constantly, he saw Trudy more often than her son. During that particular call, Michael didn’t say much. Partly because they didn’t know each other very well, but mainly because there was nothing much to say. Trudy wasn’t well, hadn’t been for a long while. 

Eames missed his plane because he kept walking around the airport, thinking that the situation was affecting him more than he had expected. He walked and walked with a blank expression and his small duffel bag for what seemed like hours. And they were hours, he figured, because he encountered Arthur in one of the queues to board his own plane to leave the city. The sight of the moon through the enormous windows caught him by surprise. Arthur didn’t see him standing in the middle of the airport, pale and wanting to throw up, and Eames was glad. For one, he was aware he was probably looking terrible. But also it was because he was sure that if Arthur turned towards him Eames would break down right then and there. And that just couldn’t do, not when Eames always gave him so much only to receive the occasional dimple or blow job. It just wouldn’t do to have Arthur see just how much Eames craved to have someone to go home with him and face what was to come. 

When he arrived at his house, he found Ernest sitting by his front door. Michael was there, too. 

“She wanted you to have him,” he said.

And just like that, Eames’s house became also Ernest’s. It was very awkward for both of them. Eames didn’t see him like the dog he was, but rather a very peculiar and disdainful mute old man that had become his roommate and his boss. He knew the thought was messed up, but so it was how Ernest often just sat in front of him and stared like he was the one to blame for everything that had happened, if you asked him. Eames actually tried to get Ernest to like him, but all the dog wanted to do was to enter his old house and break Eames’s things. He understood the sentiment, so he simply broke into Trudy’s empty house with him and threw away his broken slippers. He knew he needed to do something because Trudy’s home would be sold eventually and, even if Eames had a lot of money, he was getting tired of replacing things. 

It wasn’t until three months later that he received a message from Arthur. It was work-related, of course, he could have guessed it even if it hadn’t been received in his work phone. Arthur never really initiated conversations with him when they weren’t working, it was always Eames the one to drunk-dial and leave inappropriate messages. He didn’t even bother reading what Arthur had sent and promised himself that it was because he would be tempted to get away from the town and to maybe get to fuck Arthur. He couldn’t leave right then, not when Ernest looked so sad on top of grumpy. But hours later, however, he found himself grabbing his personal phone and calling Arthur.

Arthur had always had the uncanny ability to know when to take Eames seriously and when not to do so, even before hearing his voice. So despite having been woken up in the middle of the night, Arthur didn’t call him an asshole. Instead, he patiently listened to Eames talk about how Trudy had died in her home and was found two days later by a friend that wanted to check up on her. He talked about how probably Ernest had been by her side all the time. And Eames hadn’t, Eames hadn’t in spite of her once telling him that he was like another son to her. He talked about how the dog hated him and how Trudy’s family never understood their friendship and eyed him angrily during her funeral. If he felt like that after months of Trudy’s death, how would he feel when his true mother died? When Arthur died? Would someone tell him if something happened to Arthur while he was away?

If Arthur caught on how Eames had basically confessed his love for him in the middle of his rambling, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything at all, only listened. Eames was grateful but also heartbroken. It was only when Eames had stopped his frantic talking for a minute when he heard Arthur clearing his throat, but it didn’t matter because Eames’s phone died.

That night he went to sleep and closed the door of his bedroom for the first time since he had moved there. Before Ernest, he hadn’t had the need to, but when the irritable old dog came Eames made it a conscious decision to leave the door open. Just in case he got lonely and ventured into the bedroom for company. Of course the dog was lonely, but he simply didn’t like Eames. However, that night while Eames laid in mortification for everything he had shared with Arthur in an emotional impulse, for how vulnerable and dramatic he had probably sounded, Ernest fell asleep by his closed door.

When he woke up the next morning, Eames ventured in the kitchen and saw that Ernest was watching the street through the dining room window. He thought it would be a good idea to take him outside, have some bonding time. But he had work to do, some good old art forgery that reminded him of his earliest years and made him feel artistic. So he worked, had lunch and then dressed up a little bit nicer than someone who was going to walk a dog would, as to feel a little better with himself.

They walked slowly because Ernest was very old and Eames didn’t want to rush him. So they both took their time to go to the park Trudy had taken Ernest to for years. In their way, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he had overshared with Arthur the night before and felt deeply embarrassed. And then the thought of what would happen to Ernest if Eames died invaded his mind. Would a nice neighbor adopt him? Would he be taken to a shelter to live his last years in a cage? Would Arthur, the only one who knew about the dog outside of the small town, take care of him as the closest thing Eames had to a friend? And just like that, every thought led him to Arthur again. Especially how the other man was then aware that when Eames talked about people he loved, he appeared on his mind instantly. 

They spent some time in the park, with Eames telling Ernest about random thoughts that came into his mind. Ernest didn’t pay him much attention because he didn’t like Eames, because he was a dog and because he was practically deaf. They watched the sun go down together, and since Ernest was looking very relaxed, they stayed for a while longer and watched the moon make a shy appearance.

Just when Eames was thinking of standing up and returning home, someone took a seat by his side on the old bench. Arthur wasn’t looking at him, but at Ernest. Eames looked at Ernest too, mainly because he was used to directing his attention to whatever Arthur did when he felt that much adrenaline in his body.

“How did you know I was here?” Eames asked, sounding calm but feeling nothing like it.

“There’s a tracking device on your phone,” Arthur answered.

None of them stopped looking at the dog who just then noticed Arthur’s presence. There was a moment of silence.

“That’s not true.”

“No, it isn’t,” Arthur conceded. “I went to your house some time ago, don’t ask how I got the address, and you weren’t there. Then I went to eat something. When I went back and you still weren’t there, I remembered that you told me the dog liked this park and thought that you could be here.”

“That’s also not true,” Eames answered.

“No,” Arthur conceded again. “I came here as soon as I noticed you weren’t home.”

Ernest had decided that Arthur wasn’t a threat, apparently, since he went back to watch some birds with his small, cloudy eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Eames said. “To make you feel like you had to come here and-”

“I’m glad you called me,” Arthur said, finally turning towards Eames. 

Then Eames turned towards him and the sight of those brown eyes and that face with which he had fallen asleep countless times but never seen in the mornings made him want to smile despite his uncertainty. 

“And I’m sorry for not making you feel comfortable enough to tell me sooner.”

“Arthur, that’s-”

“I know I-”

“Don’t be ridic-”

“You know I love you, right?”

Arthur’s question hung in the air for a second, as his face got impossibly red and beautiful under the light of the slowly rising moon. Eames could only stare.

“Eames, I know I haven’t been…” Arthur quickly averted his eyes towards Ernest again and nervously and awkwardly reached down to pet him. The dog quickly looked at him with his perpetually annoyed and tired expression, but miraculously didn’t get away as he did with his human roommate. Eames stared in wonder at Arthur’s awkwardness, at Ernest's behavior but mostly the awe in his gaze was due to the words he knew he’ll never forget. “I know you need to hear some things, but I’m not very good at...”

“Arthur,” said Eames, sounded embarrassingly delighted.

Arthur glanced at him again, looking like a deer in headlights. He gulped. And then his expression hardened with what Eames knew was determination. It was less fierce than the one he was familiar with, it didn’t mean running for their lives or firing a gun. It was softer, with more expressive eyes.

“I know you need to hear some things, and that I haven’t said them,” he said, stopping stroking Ernest’s head because the dog had just eyed him from head to toe with his usual disapproving gaze, and that was probably not what Arthur needed at that moment. “It’s hard for me, you know? And, Eames, I’m sorry for not being here. And I love you.”

Arthur’s resolute expression started to fade away when Eames remained silent, just admiring him. All the years they had been in each other’s minds, all those nights of hurried kisses and muffled moans and he could have never had guessed that Arthur would have said it like that, seated on a bench with a dog by their feet who probably thought them stupid. Just like that, Arthur had said it. And the thought that he had been the first of them to utter those words, made Eames smile widely, feeling his face stretching in a way he knew wasn’t his best look.

Arthur looked away for a second, but when his eyes met Eames’s again, he saw that spark that he had suspected it was only for him. He saw it before parting ways after one of their first successful jobs together, when they first looked at each other after kissing for the first time and when Arthur learned that Philippa and James Cobb also called him ‘uncle’. It was there and it had been for a long time. Just like Arthur himself. Eames suddenly felt like a fool, but the giddiness that took over him was much stronger.

“I brought him something,” Arthur said after clearing his throat, noticeably embarrassed. He opened his small duffle bag that laid on the other side of the bench and took a couple of toys that weren’t as annoyingly colored and noisy as the ones Eames bought. 

“I love you too,” Eames said as casually as he could as Arthur showed Ernest the toys. The dog eyed him more than he eyed the gifts, and it occurred to Eames that Ernest hadn’t interacted with many people since Trudy died.

“I know,” Arthur replied softly.

Eames put a hand on Arthur’s back and as soon as the other straightened up, he kissed him. It was the first time they had kissed like that, out in the open and delicately. As Eames felt Arthur’s lips curling up in a smile, he heard Ernest starting to move around them. 

“Let’s go to my house, I want to cook you dinner and get you off,” Eames said and Arthur laughed and nodded.

They didn’t hold hands on their way back, but they did walk closer to each other than usual. Ernest kept glancing at Arthur from time to time with distrust, which was understandable since he couldn’t exactly be considered a good person. Eames just hoped the dog wouldn’t piss on Arthur’s shoes like he sometimes did with his own.

While Arthur went to the bathroom and Ernest went to another room to get his alone time, Eames hurriedly tidied his bedroom and checked to see if his underwear was decent enough. Then he cursed at himself in the kitchen because the only food he had was dog food or leftovers, but it didn’t matter because Arthur appeared and kissed him by the counter.

Minutes later, as Eames felt how Arthur mouthed incomprehensible things on his neck he vaguely wondered if Arthur had also felt like he had overshared at some point, in his own way. Eames would tell him how attractive he is, how wonderful it felt to have him close and share his secrets; but he would never know what Arthur whispered on his skin whenever they made it to a bed. Maybe Arthur had actually said ‘I love you’ at some point and Eames had been too busy getting off to hear it, and how sad was that. He decided to store the thought for later and simply enjoy how Arthur’s mouth slowly made his way downwards.

“I think he hates me, or at least distrusts me” Arthur mentioned some time later when they were in boxers and eating pizza leftovers in the kitchen. Ernest didn’t take his eyes off Arthur since he saw him appear from the bedroom. Eames didn’t either, but his reasons were more along the lines of how odd and wonderful Arthur looked in his messy kitchen while eating cold pizza without a shirt.

“Don’t take it too personally.”

“He likes you.”

“He doesn’t.”

“He likes me less, then, so that makes you his favorite human in the house,” Arthur reasoned. 

“That’s a nice thought, I suppose,” Eames answered.

There was a moment of silence in which the only sounds in the room came from the kitchen clock and Arthur pouring more soda in his glass. Something in the ambient shifted, and suddenly Arthur looked at him as if he were waiting for Eames to finish a thought.

“I have been trying,” Eames said, ready to talk about what was actually the reason Arthur had come to see him. “But he doesn’t like me. He just wants Trudy back, which I understand because I do, too.”

Eames watched his half-eaten pizza for a couple of seconds. And then he wondered if he would feel sad after he told Arthur everything in more detail, because he had to tell someone. But then he watched at him again and found his lovely face frowning in slight worry and with attentive eyes. And even if he were sure he was going to feel bad for sharing with Arthur, who never did, he knew that he wouldn’t actually regret it. Because that’s how Arthur loved, with attention and with his presence. Always ready to listen, always ready to murder someone for people he cared about. The only thing Eames had needed was a verbal confirmation that he was, in fact, one of those people. And he got it.

With that thought in mind, he started talking, feeling lighter almost at the instant. He didn’t know how much time he took to tell Arthur things that happened after Trudy’s death, but it felt like mere minutes. The only thing that indicated it was more, was the fact that there was no more pizza when he finished. When he had said everything he was interested in saying and acknowledged the heavy feeling in his chest, he felt something bump into his feet.

There lay Ernest, right next to Eames's leg, seeking contact for the first time. They looked at each other for a moment and Eames really, really felt like crying. He did, a little, when Arthur put his hand on top of his.

Eames wouldn’t have Trudy anymore to tell him he was like a son, someone that spoke his same love language and voiced anything and everything nice and sweet to people she cared about. Maybe he would never have something like that again. But he had Arthur, finally, there to look at him warmly, listen and help him build a home. All the years of stolen moments and longing glances could have never prepared him for the wonderful process of learning to read his I love you’s.

Something was progressing with Ernest, too, but it was harder to tell without being able to have a conversation. But he started following Eames around more and had stopped pissing on his shoes. Eames liked to ignore the fact that it might have been because Arthur’s were far nicer and fun to ruin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This is the product of loneliness, guilt, wanting to contribute to the fandom and to support people who organize wonderful events.
> 
> [ Come say hi on my Tumblr!](https://little-specificity.tumblr.com)


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